


carry your heart

by sinequanon



Series: Stiles & Mikaelsons [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 07:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11939295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: In which the universe gives a vampire the family she's always wanted. Or, Rebekah finds a strange child in the woods and raises him as her own.





	carry your heart

**Author's Note:**

> So, I created a new series so that I could put the rest of my Stiles/Mikaelsons stories in one place. Here's the first, and it's surprisingly fluffy.

Rebekah thought about him often over the centuries (even more so now that Niklaus had Hope); the tiny baby that she had found in the forest so long ago. While her brothers had been making their marks on the world, she was finding acceptance in the amber eyes of an orphaned child.

To this day, she had no idea what had compelled her to follow that particular trail, but she had taken one look at the boy at the end of it and known that she was supposed to take care of him. She had managed to push aside her rage and the bloodlust to claim the family she never thought she'd have.

It was apparent almost immediately that her Sammael was no ordinary child; he rarely cried, and he wanted for nothing. If he was hungry, food appeared before him with no help from Rebekah; if he was cold, she found him swaddled in unfamiliar blankets. He practically glowed when the vampire held or played with him, and seemed fascinated with rather than repelled by her nature.

Rebekah was so busy caring for this strange and wonderful child that she rarely thought of her parents or her brothers.

As Sammael grew, Rebekah learned that her her son’s curiosity and mischievousness were eclipsed only by his compassion and courage. Even as a small boy, he watched her with old eyes. He was never afraid to argue, but was also quick to forgive.

They lived, they played, they loved, and Rebekah was happier than she’d ever thought possible.

<> <>

“Look, Mama!”

Rebekah turned toward her seven-year-old son, expecting to see any number of things in her child’s arms: a wild animal that had “just followed me home, Mama, honest”, shiny gems, leaves, or books. The day that her Sam came home empty-handed from a day of exploring would likely never occur.

In fact, the vampire suspected that it was her son’s magic that made sure that there was always room for whatever new trinket he brought home, though she had long ago learned to stop questioning such things.

It hadn't, however, prepared her for the sight of her child glowing with unearthly power. There was a strange winged wolf beside him and a phoenix cradled gently in his arms, but it was the feathers poking out from the top of Sam’s tunic that truly caught her attention.

“He couldn't fly,” her boy explained, “and I thought it was because he was hurt, so I made him better, but he didn't leave, so I thought maybe he forgot how, and I was going to show him.”

Rebekah was stunned. “You have wings.”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “Sometimes.” He brought the phoenix close to his ear, as if listening to the creature, before telling her, “They won't hurt you, Mama. They're here to protect me.”

“From what?”

Her son grinned, and gave the wolf creature an enthusiastic scratch behind the ears. “Everything.”

<> <>

It was the hardest thing Rebekah ever had to do, leaving her son in the hands of the Templars. Marchosias and Phenex had told her that it was necessary to hide him from those who would destroy all of Heaven and Hell, but the vampire was loathe to let go of the surprisingly simple life she led with her son.

She would do her best not to be pulled back into her brothers’ schemes and manipulations, but she feared that losing Sam would make that goal infinitely more difficult.

Sammael looked much older than his eleven years on the day that she gave him up to protect him. She pulled him close and refused to let go until he gently pulled away. “Don't worry,” he assured her. “We’ll see each other again, I promise.”

She believed him.

<> <>

Decades passed before Rebekah saw her son again, but she often saw things that reminded her of him. Every time she saw a horse, she would think of Orobas, and how he promised to watch over Sammael; she would see a dusty scrap of parchment or a book and wonder if her son had read it. When she grew melancholy at the same time every year, her brothers learned to ignore it.

She dreamed of him often--growing bigger, stronger, turning into a young man before her eyes--and prayed that he was happy.

She and her brothers were often hunted; more than once, they escaped from their parents by the barest of margins, and after each time, she dreamed of her son, that he had come to hold her and make sure that she was well.

It was only after she was rescued by a giant eagle that she realized who had been watching out for her family.

“Thank you,” she said, hugging the angel to her.

“You called.”

Rebekah frowned. “No, I didn't.”

The look in Seraphiel’s eyes reminded the vampire that no matter how old she might have been, the angel was much, much older. “Your heart did. Call him, and he will come, as he always does. I just happened to be closer.”

“When did…” Rebekah’s eyes widened. “The dreams?”

“You are dear to him. He will always come,” he smirked, “even when he probably should not.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, but the angel was already gone.

<> <>

Rebekah had never much been interested in scholarship, but she quickly learned the value of secrets. The Templars vanished almost overnight, and Sammael ran from those who considered him an abomination. Rebekah hoarded every book, tablet, or scroll that mentioned her son, even in passing--the peacebringer made flesh, the light of the dark.

He walked through the world, and made it better. He made friends, took lovers, and visited Rebekah in person far too little for either of them. Slow to anger, quick to laugh, ruthless when necessary, he let himself be reduced to myth so that those he cared for would remain safe.

“Call me Stiles,” he said once, and hid his wings once more.

<> <>

“Merry Christmas, Mom.”

Rebekah gasped as her son appeared next to her. She took a quick second to make sure he didn't look sick or injured before pulling him tightly into her arms.

“What are you doing here?” she breathed into his hair. “It's been too long.”

“Things have calmed down a lot lately,” he assured her. “With everyone busy with their own lives, I figured it was a good time to pop in and check on you.” He grinned as she punched him in mock outrage.

The two of them walked in comfortable silence for a while, content to enjoy each other's company. Later, she asked him about his friends, and the Sheriff, and his companions, and he asked her about her life for the past century.

“Flannel, really?”

“It's comfortable, and it helps me blend in.”

They stayed together until sunrise, as they had done dozens of times before. The difference this time was that Rebekah was quite unwilling to let her son leave once again. “Come home with me,” she said suddenly, grasping his hand.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“I don't care. Nik needs to get over himself, you and Freya will absolutely get along, and Hope deserves to meet her cousin.”

“I already watch out for her, you know,” he reminded her. He didn't bother adding that Zadkiel was one of Hope’s many imaginary friends.

“Please?” she added. “I'll give you whatever you want if you walk straight up to Nik and hug him.”

“I'm nine hundred years old, and you're still bribing me.” Stiles smirked. “Deal.” It was long past time to introduce himself properly, anyway. “Just make sure you have the camera ready.”

Rebekah would never forget the looks on her brothers’ faces when Stiles walked into the room, arms spread, yelled, “UNCLE KLAUS!” and he threw himself into her temperamental brother's arms.

The fact that Hope got so excited to see Stiles again that she blew out all of the lights in the house made it even better.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the poem [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in] by e.e. cummings.
> 
> I did a bit of research on angels and demons for this, and the demons come from the book _Ars Goetia_ , which is available online. Also, I've given supernatural Stiles the same name in two of the fics I posted this week, which was unintentional; the stories are not related. (Although I suppose they could be, if you wanted to tilt your head in a certain way.)
> 
> Next week: I'll be taking the month of September off, but I will be responding to comments, albeit a little more slowly. See you in October, and thanks for reading!


End file.
